


The Who in the Call "Who's There?"

by cytheriafalas



Category: SHINee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-23
Updated: 2013-07-23
Packaged: 2017-12-21 02:31:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/894756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cytheriafalas/pseuds/cytheriafalas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vampire 2Min. Follow me <a href="http://fangirlingtendencies.tumblr.com">here</a> to keep updated on writing, the universe, and everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Who in the Call "Who's There?"

It hurt. It hurt _so fucking_ bad that all Minho could do was try not to scream. He’d lost track of how long he’d been here, wherever here was. He didn’t even know if he was in the same place every time he woke up. Sometimes the tiny sliver of sun seemed to be in different places, which he attributed to the normal progression of day and night, but it never seemed to follow a straight path across the floor.

Other times, the room just _felt_ different, from what Minho could discern. He’d had a blindfold over his eyes for the past… however long, except when _he_ was in the room. Taemin. The man who smiled so brightly, the man with innocence in his eyes. Innocence that didn’t belong there.

“You smell like tears again, Minho. Don’t cry.”

He hadn’t even heard him come in.

Minho choked back a sob, biting down on his lip to hold in the tears. He bit too hard and tasted blood in his mouth only a second before he heard the sharp inhale and then _he_ was there, lips brushing Minho’s. A tongue darted out and lapped at the warm blood trickling down the seam of Minho’s lips.

Minho whined, beyond caring how childish his sounds were, and tried to recoil. A strong hand caught his shoulder, holding him in place.

“You taste so good, Minho.”

As if to prove his point, Taemin’s lips disappeared from Minho’s and a second later he felt the sharp, stinging, _familiar_ pain at the front of his shoulder. The worst of the pain retreated almost instantly as Taemin withdrew his teeth, replaced with the slick slide of his tongue and gentle suction as he brought the blood to his mouth.

He whimpered. The chains attaching his wrist to the bed rattled when he tried to press his hand to his mouth to stifle the sound. Taemin pulled away and Minho blinked when a rush of air hit his eyes.

There was a splash of deep red blood on Taemin’s lip, and as his eyes focused on the spot, Taemin’s tongue licked it up. Minho felt nauseous, but he had nothing left in his stomach to vomit.

Minho knew why Taemin was here this time. He was hungry. More than that, he was thirsty. He was so thirsty. When Taemin reached for his head, Minho tried to cry out in protest, but all he managed was a weak croak.

Taemin lowered his lips to Minho’s mouth. Minho clamped his lips shut, but Taemin pried it open, pinching Minho’s chin with his thumb and forefinger. Just before their lips met in that familiar, strange, mockery of a kiss, Taemin bit down on his own lip, hard enough to draw blood.

His body revolted at the first taste, bitter and salty with iron, but before long, his dehydration overwhelmed any sense of hesitation, exactly as it always did, and Minho sucked greedily at the liquid. Taemin pulled away and bit into his wrist, holding it above Minho’s lips.

“You have to keep up your strength,” he murmured, sliding his arm beneath Minho’s shoulder and supporting him and he leaned up.

Minho caught Taemin’s wrist in his teeth and sucked, almost moaning in relief when the blood began to do its work. He still _felt_ hungry, his stomach was empty of the solid food he was used to consuming, but he no longer felt as though he were going to starve.

Taemin hummed quietly, fingers carding through Minho’s hair. “There you go. Keep drinking. It will happen soon now.”

He drank his fill, until he finally felt sated. Taemin helped him lie down, checking the restraints once more. Taemin licked up what Minho presumed were spots of blood on his face and then pressed a kiss to Minho’s forehead.

“Sleep now.”

“Why me?” Minho asked. His voice came out a croak, but the words were clear.

Taemin tilted his head. It was the first time Minho had spoken to him in a very long time. “It will happen soon,” Taemin repeated, “and then you will understand.”

“What did I do?” Minho asked, voice breaking. “What did I do wrong?”

He had been reaching for the blindfold again, but he put it back down when Minho spoke, running delicate fingers along Minho’s cheeks.

“You did nothing wrong, Minho. You will understand very soon.”

He slid the blindfold back into place and Minho cried out at the loss of his sight, reaching out in the direction Taemin had been, but his fingers caught nothing but air. The warmth that had accompanied his feeding was fading and the pain was coming back.

“Please!” Minho cried, reaching out further until the chains across his chest and waist bit in, keeping him on the bed. “Please, don’t leave me! I don’t want to be alone.”

His words faded into silence. Taemin was gone. Minho sobbed, hands clenching into fists.

“I don’t want to be alone,” Minho repeated, squeezing his eyes shut beneath the blindfold.

He began to fade out of consciousness, the way he did every time Taemin fed him. Pictures and images that didn’t always make sense flashing behind his eyes.

_Dark houses on a dark street._

_His street._

_Trees—no, not trees. There were no trees by his house. He was somewhere else. Shapes. People. Voices._

_His house. Open windows. A scent he didn’t recognize._

_Since when did he recognize scents?_

_A voice, speaking on the phone. “No, I’m sorry, but this isn’t…”_

_His voice. The breakup hadn’t been pretty, but…_

_Suicide. Broken-hearted. It would be the conclusion. They would stop looking. Perfect timing._

_But_ he _had broken up with_ her. _Why would he commit suicide?_

_Shapes shifted. The scent was stronger._

_The door opened. Minho stepped out._

_It was bizarre, like looking at himself and looking out into the darkness at once._

_He felt chilled and comfortably warm at the same time. He took a step forward, hopping down the stairs. He took two steps back, keeping out of sight._

_Minho heard something. Swore he heard a rustle, but there was nothing to rustle here._

_“Hello?” His voice really did sound strange to his own ears. “Hello? Is someone there?” Silence._

_He shrugged and continued down the walkway toward the quay. Minho remembered this much. He’d made it almost half way down when someone had grabbed him from behind._

_Hands wrapped around him, one around his waist and the catching his chin. Pain. It hurt. His head jerked back._

_Sharp. More pain. Stabbing pain in his neck._

_Weak._

_He couldn’t stand. His knees buckled._

_A man smiling down at him, looking so beautifully innocent there in the moonlight. Taemin._

Minho realized he was screaming out loud, screaming so loud his throat hurt. He was tearing at his bonds, the chains ripping his skin as he thrashed.

Hands caught his shoulders, holding him down. A hand tugged the blindfold from Minho’s eyes. Taemin was standing over him, pinning him in place.

“Ssh, Minho, ssh, my love. Ssh, this is the worst of it.”

He was burning, screaming, aching, _dying_ from absolute, impossible pain that came from nowhere and everywhere. He was hardly coherent, except to feel something shoved between his lips and then he was swallowing Taemin’s blood, feeling it gush across his tongue and it tasted _incredible_. He grabbed Taemin’s arm and held him in place, drinking it until the pain faded.

He opened his eyes, not even remembering closing them, in time to see Taemin slump forward, breathing heavily. He clutched his bleeding wrist to his chest and undid the chains holding Minho to the bed with the other. One was broken, only a ragged loop around one wrist, but the others had held firm.

Minho cocked his head and reached out for Taemin, sensing his weakness. He didn’t know how to make himself bleed as much as Taemin had for him, so he held out his wrist, holding it tantalizingly beneath Taemin’s nose.

“Will this help?” he asked.

Taemin’s eyes lifted, beautiful and dark, liquid brown. He took Minho’s wrist gratefully in his hand and bit down. The sensation was familiar, but mostly without pain. He could feel Taemin getting stronger, feel the life he was giving him. When Taemin’s pulls slowed, Minho lunged forward, catching Taemin completely by surprise, he could feel that too, he could feel _so many things_ , and smashed their mouths together. He wasn’t used to having fangs and sliced Taemin’s lip open, biting his own tongue, but it was worth it to hear the muffled sound of surprise, to feel Taemin’s arm curling around his waist, to taste their blood mingling between their mouths.

Then Taemin was pushing him slowly away, laughing when Minho growled his displeasure.

“Slow down, Minho,” Taemin murmured. His voice was honey in Minho’s ear, more nuanced than it had been last time he heard him speak. “Slow or you’re going to hurt yourself.”

“Taemin,” Minho breathed, inhaling deeply. He could feel his body filling up with Taemin’s scent and he never wanted to let it go. “Smell so good.”

“You’re smelling the girl in the other room--”

Minho pressed closer, nose against Taemin’s throat. That was where the scent was sweetest, right near the pulse point. “No. You.”

He felt arms twining around his waist again, Taemin’s head tipping back just a little. He smelled… Minho smelled desire on him. Want. _Need_ that grew with every little movement Minho made. Experimentally, he pushed a little closer and that need spiked, Taemin’s hands clenching on his back, a small sound rumbling out from Taemin’s chest.

“Not now, Minho,” Taemin chastised. “We need to feed you.”

“I have you.”

“You can’t live off my blood forever, my love. Do you smell her? The girl in the other room?”

Unwillingly, Minho pulled back, lifting his head just a little to escape the intensity of Taemin’s scent. There… was something there. Something that made his mouth water and he was pulling against Taemin’s grip, but Taemin was still stronger than him, restraining him from bolting toward the door.

“What do you smell?”

“ _Her_.”

“No,” Taemin said, running his hands across Minho’s chest, drawing his attention back to the two of them. “You don’t smell her. What do you _smell_?”

With great effort, Minho focused. He smelled… He smelled dirt, dank air, green growing things, heat… but that wasn’t what Taemin wanted. He wanted to smell what Taemin wanted. Sweat, tears, blood, and some slight _tang_ that made him pull harder against Taemin.

“That’s it. That right there,” Taemin said. “Do you know what that is?”

Minho shook his head. “I want it.”

“You’re smelling _life_ , Minho. That is the scent that is missing from the ones you cannot feast upon. Minho, are you listening to me? Some people, some daywalkers, will have that smell and some will not. You cannot feed upon the ones that do not have that smell.”

“Why?” Minho asked.

“There are stories. I will share them with you later. For now, come. You can have her.”

He tried his best not to rush Taemin, not to push him aside and just grab the girl. Taemin led him slowly, sedately, to her side and forced him to kneel on one side. She was sobbing. The sound hurt his ears, grating against the eardrums. He jerked his head to the side to try make it stop.

Taemin stroked a single finger down Minho’s face. “You’ll get used to it. Come on. Share her with me.”

Taemin showed him how to drink, where to bite, how to get the most from her while spilling the least. He wasn’t as neat as Taemin was, blood splashing his cheeks and shirt, while Taemin only got the slightest dribbles on his lips, but Taemin promised him he would learn. The girl they left on the floor to dispose of later and Taemin drew Minho in, kissing his cheeks and cleaning most of the blood from Minho’s face.

“We’re together now,” Taemin said, his lips trailing across Minho’s skin. “Together forever. There are so many things I can teach you, newling. So many things for you to learn, for me to show you.”

“I want you to show me _you_ ,” Minho said, pushing closer, fingers tripping across the fabric on Taemin’s chest. “Teach me about _you_.”

Taemin laughed, low and hot. “I will teach you.”


End file.
